Just Once
by goldnote
Summary: A sequel to Music, this story continues where the last one left off. Every chapter is a short story, in a way, but they all follow the plot of Music, leading to House making a choice he can't put off any longer... Rated T. House doesn't belong to me...
1. Rain

_You asked for it and I worked on it... A sequel to "Music." I didn't really want to add on to that story because I thought it was so nice just as a 'trilogy,' but I did agree to the concern that I might not have had enough. :) I love writing House stories and I am trying to work with new ideas and old ideas at the same time. I really debated on whether to just add onto "Music," but I hope no one minds I started another one. "Music" was a good prequel, I suppose!_

_Here is the first chapter of something I started working on right after I read the reviews for "Music," I was so thrilled. I don't know how far it is going to go, but I know I am going to finish it when the time comes, so don't worry about being left on a cliff!_

_I am now happy to present the sequel._

Rain.

It was raining again. It's not that he hated the rain, he just hated it when it rained so often. And his umbrella didn't really work, one end of it dipped down, the wires crunched, the fabric a little torn. He had gotten it caught in a revolving door and then, after saving it, had stepped on it. The umbrella reminded him of his leg, only instead of wire and fabric, the bone and flesh were ruined. Like his leg, the umbrella still worked, but it was a nuisance when he had to use it.

He walked into the hospital, folding the umbrella, shaking off the rainwater. The ruined wires stuck out and caught on his jacket, pulling several thread away from the rest of the fabric. House took the elevator after ignoring the lady behind the desk, who hoped this time House would actually pick up his patient files. Of course he didn't. He walked to his office. The damp from outside had made his cane slick and he was forced to pause and wipe his hands on his pant leg to keep a grip on both cane and umbrella.

As soon as he entered the room, House switched on every lamp he had, leaving the ceiling lights off. The floor-to-wall windows behind his desk showed the doctor the weather he just came in from, the rain running down the glass in steady streams. The clouds were growing darker by the minute. Soon there would be a thunderstorm. House didn't care. He had night duty and didn't have to go back into the wet world until the next morning. As it was, he could see doctors and nurses and other workers leaving the building, their shift over. Some of them didn't have umbrellas; just pulling their jackets up over their heads and running for their car was enough for them.

There was only one figure entering the building. It was her. House took a step away from the window, less she see him watching her. She was not running toward the building, eager to escape the cold and the rain falling from the sky, but was walking with a firm stride, head bowed. He could see the rainwater soaking into her clothes, making the cloth darker and skin tight. Her hair must be naturally wavy, he noticed, because the wisps of hair that escaped her braid curled around her neck in elegant swirls, some of them stuck to her skin. Her hands were in the pockets of her lab jacket. Didn't she know that now she would have to change jackets, House thought, furrowing his brows. When was the last time any doctor had come into work already wearing their jacket? The water made the jacket almost transparent and drops fell from the tip of her braid onto the jacket, the water then dripping from the hem of her jacket to the ground.

House stepped further away from the window and sat in his chair as she entered the building. Now she was soaking wet and had patients to see. How was she going to work? He was her superior, House remembered, and she would have to go to him if there was an issue or if she wanted to leave the hospital, even for a moment. Of course, she would probably be too proud to go to him, preferring to stay wet and make people unhappy than even look at House.

Digging under his desk, he found a bag where he usually kept things he needed for night duty and, grabbing several items off the top, stood up, took his cane, and limped out of the room. She would have to check in and get her patient files before going to her office, which left him plenty of time.

* * *

She walked into the familiar room, setting the files on her desk in a neat stack. Walking to her small office closet, she could have cried when she realized she had forgotten her night bag. Why hadn't she remembered to grab it while leaving for work? Now, she was going to have to face the wrath of the hospital staff for going around wet or talk to House to get him to let her leave the hospital to go and get her bag, all because she had been stupid enough to bring it home.

Choosing between the two evils, she decided to do the best she could being wet. Sighing, she went back to her desk and pulled out her chair to sit and look at her files, only to find something already there. Picking the items up, she realized it was a set of clothes and a lab jacket. Guessing by the size of the items, they belonged to House.

The storm was getting worse, the rain falling harder. She had checked on all her patients, not one of them failing to comment on her state. Finally, uncomfortable with all the attention she was receiving from staff and patients alike, she decided to swallow her pride and ask House if she could leave to get her things. Cursing herself for not wearing a rain coat, or at least buying an umbrella, she grabbed the still-folded pile of clothes off her desk and walked to his office.

Reaching the door, she was startled to find all the lights were off. The darkness outside was only broken by the occasional glimmer of a raindrop catching the light from the parking lot. Maybe he had left. It wouldn't be the first time House had skipped night shift. Or maybe he was already sleeping somewhere. But she couldn't ever ask any of the staff where Dr. House was sleeping. She would never live it down. Just as she reached for the door handle, a flash of lightning cut through the sky and she could see his profile, silhouetted against the blinding light of the electricity. For a split second, she saw him, sitting back in his chair, twirling his cane, hand tapping on the desk, one ankle resting on the other knee.

She bowed her head and took a deep breath. She couldn't do it, she just couldn't. Clutching the clothes tighter to her wet body, she hurried off to her assigned room for the night.

* * *

Once there, she dressed quietly, in the dark room, the wing of the hospital nearly empty. She didn't want to see the clothes she now wore, putting the borrowed lab jacket at the foot of the bed for when she was called to duty in the middle of the night. Climbing into the bed, the bagginess of the clothes was comforting and she was quickly warm under the covers. She drifted into sleep, humming a tune in her head, too tired to whisper the words herself. Little did she know he was doing that himself, alone in his office.

_I hoped you enjoyed it! There should be another chapter coming up very soon... Please review and tell me what you think! I loved the reviews for "Music!" Thanks for reading and please let me know if you liked it or not!_


	2. Reputation

_I was really embarrassed when I first started writing House stories because I didn't know what the response would be! I am so happy that there are people who really like these stories! _

_This chapter/story might seem a little bland, at least I thought so, but I think it really shows that House has feelings and acts on them, even though everyone else thinks he is like a stone._

Reputation

He hadn't told her. His little vow to make an end of the rumors failed. He just never thought very deeply about what he was going to do. House wasn't a fool and he wasn't def; his leg didn't affect his hearing. People were whispering about the fact she was waring his clothes and his lab jacket that day of the rainstorm He could always tell they were talking about it when he walked into a room and they stopped, avoiding his grey eyes.

* * *

And he was far from the ability to burn the memories of the music and the words from his mind...

* * *

She must have entered his office sometime during the day, for his clothes were back and his lab coat was draped over his chair. He never wore his coat, anyway, and promptly shoved it into the bag under his desk. She could have just kept it. The borrowed clothes were stashed in his backpack to be taken home and washed. House wished he would have been there to corner her, hiding in the shadows of his office until she was far enough from the door where he could block her only escape. The terrified look on her face, mingled with doubt and hope would almost be too much for him to bear.

There was no thank you note, no sign at all that she was appreciative of his generosity. She had worn them and returned them.

House looked unhappy. He always looked unhappy, it seemed to the hospital staff who worked with him most often. He never smiled unless it was in mockery and never spoke a kind word unless it would get him out of an issue he found himself in. He had several patients that day and went dutifully to each one, listening to their petty problems, fixing their small complaints. He didn't run into her all day.

* * *

The intern who had just laughed at her was the most unfortunate intern who ever walked the hospital hallway. All House heard were bits of a conversation that abruptly stopped as he acted on instinct. The group of interns were talking too loud, obnoxious laugher echoing in the corridor. The other doctors and nurses at least had the sense of mind to whisper when they were gossiping. Before they noticed him, he saw them, and all he heard was his name, her name, and several words House never wanted to hear again. He limped to the group and swung his can behind the young man's knees, knocking him to the ground. With a sharp smack, the cane hit it's second target and the man slumped over, limp.

House glanced at the other young men and women, that one look telling them that this was the same thing that was going to happen to them if they ever insulter her again in his presence. House walked away, a crowd gathering behind him, a doctor attending to the intern, who was already stirring.

He had not hurt the intern nearly as much as he should have for what House had heard him say, but, even though he hated clinic duty, he didn't want to lose his job. He wasn't the least bit surprised when he was called to the main office, the hospital director undoubtedly waiting for him.

* * *

She listened carefully behind the door as House was reprimanded and given a warning. Other doctors would have been fired on the spot, but House was special, brilliant at what he did, so he could stay. He would lose his job if he ever did anything again that would involve rendering someone unconscious. The young intern actually apologized, admitting his mistake, humbled by his unexpected encounter with a cane.

She closed her eyes and felt a tear slide down her cheek. He had risked his job to protect her reputation, paying no heed to his own. They were saying awful things about her and he had come to her rescue, never wanting her to know.

As she heard the meeting end and the scuffle of chairs, she whispered a quick thank you to House, although she knew he couldn't hear it, and hurried off before he opened the door.

_Thank you for reading! More will be coming soon! I already have an ending and can't wait to post that in a while... I don't know when I will end this little series; I really like working on it! Please review! I post to hear what everyone thinks and to share this with other House-fans... Thanks again!_


	3. Shadows

Shadows

All the lights were turned off. He didn't want reality to come back as he drifted off into a world he refused to leave, and turning off reality involved turning off the lights. His house was quiet, the faint moonlight streaming in through the one window he had not covered to fall in broken streams across the piano. The trees outside that blocked some of the moonlight rustled in a quiet breeze. Autumn was almost over and, if House looked up, he could see the shadow of leaved falling from the branches in the moonlight.

The silver light spread across the floor. As the leaves left their shadow on the piano, House left his shadow on the floor. His leg hurt him again, a throbbing pain that left his fingers shaking on the piano keys. He refused his painkillers, but he remembered exactly what pocket they were in and caught himself looking over at his jacket longingly. He wouldn't give into the pain. He had been numbing it for so long. He was sick of it. To get better, it would have have to get worse first. House only wondered if he could handle it.

He was picking out a tune with one hand, his other hand clenched in a fist over his thigh, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. It was that song again.

He missed the sound of her voice. He was weak enough to admit it. He could remember the words, but it was not her voice that haunted him. It was her face. He was startled when, while at the hospital, he saw her face on other people. It was only for a split second, and then he realized who he was looking at, but it was shocking how many times it happened. There were times, too, when he was alone in his office and could see her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be flesh and blood and several times he had darted his hand toward her, seeing if he could touch her. But, it always turned out to be his imagination and, hopelessly frustrated, he would go back to work. She had been so vivid, though, she could have been real...

He noticed a bit of fabric sticking out from the side of his backpack he had dropped beside the piano; taking his fingers off the ivory keys, he took the item out. It was the shirt he had lent her. He still had not taken it out and washed it, like he had planned. The fabric was warm from being kept in the bad, and the texture was strangely comforting. She had worn this. While working with patients, while doing paperwork, while sleeping...

Angrily, he whipped it across the room and the shirt landed in a pile, rejected. House sighed sharply, wincing as his leg hurt even more with the movement he had made. Giving in, he stood up and, leaving his cane beside the piano, hobbled to his jacket, leaning on random items. Reaching into the pocket, he took out his pill bottle, opened it, and dumped the contents into his palm. To his dismay, there were only two there. That was enough for a regular person, but, after years of overdosing to achieve the desired effect, House needed more than two to block the pain.

For a moment, he almost put them in his mouth. He could almost taste the bitter pills and it was nearly too much to bear. But, with quick, firm movements, he dumped the pills back into the bottle, replaced the cap, and threw it all back into his pocket. Limping back across the room, one hand on the wall, he sat back down on the piano bench. He looked at the pearly keys and tried to find the onyx ones in the shadows. From his trip across he room, his leg hurt still, but it was no match for the pain that was in his head. If only there was a drug to keep her out of his thoughts... Would he take it, or throw that drug aside, too? If he could try to ignore the pain in his leg, he would ignore her, too.

His fingers stroked the keys and, as he picked the song out once more, the moon slid behind a dark cloud, blotting out the light, casting everything into shadow. The song faded away as he stopped playing; it was too dark to see the keys.

_I really almost cried when I finished this one! Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! Thanks again! _


	4. Tears

_I didn't know whether writing a whole chapter devoted to "her" would be a good idea, but I like risks, so I went for it! Please enjoy!_

Tears

She couldn't believe herself. How could this have happened? For months and months, she had lived in doubt. For weeks and weeks, she had lived in fear. For days and days, she had not lived at all, but found herself drawn into a situation she had no control of. Love was not rational and she wanted rationality in her life. If only she had not let herself be drawn in.

Silently, she undid the braid, plucking every strand of hair away from the clip before setting it on the dresser. A single lamp was on, the warm light doing nothing to drive away the chill autumn air; her heat wasn't working. Slowly, she brushed her hair, the waves coming back to float around her face. Dragging her fingers through the strands, she placed the brush by the clip.

What was he doing right now? Was he loading up on painkillers? Was he reviewing medical textbooks? Was he already asleep? Glancing at the clock, she sighed. Any normal person would be asleep by now, she thought. It seemed forever since she had gotten a full night of sleep. She slept so well when she had had her last night shift, the memory coming back. Ironic she could sleep in a hospital full of sick people who needed her and with House a few minutes walk away.

Turning off the lamp, she shivered. Her stomach hurt from being up so late and not eating anything all day. She made a quick note to eat a fast meal on her way out. She had night shift tomorrow night, too, and before getting into bed, she double checked that her bag was by the door. As kind as House was in that rain incident, she hoped never to borrow anything from him again. She was too scared to even say thank you. If she had said one word to him, it would have started the landslide and she would have to admit everything. What he had accidentally said during that staff meeting echoed in her mind. She wondered if it was a true mistake or if he had just said something he had been thinking about long before then...

The look in his eyes after he realized what had been said. The fire behind those ice grey eyes had been startling. There was not one person in the room who had not shuddered in a sudden fear. The wrath of House was not an easy load to bear, and so they had said nothing, looking back and forth from House to her. After several seconds had passed by, she had gotten up and left the room, a hand laid across her eyes. She still didn't remember how she had found her way to her office.

She pulled the comforter back and slid into the bed, the room dark and quiet. Over and over again, she replayed the scene, hearing every word in her head, his voice cold and harsh. Tears wet her pillow, rolling down her cheek and across her face, salty on her lips. Frustrated, she wiped her eyes with her blanket. How immature was she acting? She was not a teenager anymore; to be weeping in her bed over a man was not acceptable. But, a grown woman wouldn't have been so stupid as to compose music and slip it under his door, half hoping he would never notice it was there. The words she had made up to the song were her favorite words, but they had a bitter taste to them, now. If all of this ended how she supposed it would, how it must end eventually, she would never be able to say anything that reminded her of him without bursting into sobs.

The tears trickled again, clumping her eyelashes, wetting her face. Exhausted from emotion and hard work at the hospital, she fell asleep, never bothering to wipe the tears away.

_There we are! I keep re-playing the last chapter in my head already and I can't wait to work on it, but I want to get a few more chapters in before I give everyone the tearjerker... Don't worry, I want it to end sadly hopeful or happily sad. Something that makes you smile, but cry at the same time... Huh. I have a lot of work ahead of me! Thanks for reading and please review! I love reviews and it helps me think of what I am going to write next! Thanks!_


	5. Illusion

_I didn't know how to approach this chapter. To tell the truth, I pick a title (just one word) and I write something based off of that word... I let my imagination take over! I don't know when I am going to reach the end, but I still have a few more chapter ideas left!_

Illusion

She had walked up to him in his office, catching him by surprise. He had been leaning back in his chair, his pills finally taking effect. A haze was slowly coming over him, the pain in his leg fading away little by little. His shift was over and the office was dark. He had been on his way out the door, but stopped when his leg buckled and he nearly fell. That was when he decided to take his medicine and let it kick in before going home.

There were very few people left in the hospital. House suspected he was one of the only doctors left. His chair felt so comfortable and he closed his eyes in weariness. The feeling of defeating pain was exhilarating, but left him drained every time he took his painkillers. There was the gentle sound of a door opening, but it was so faint, House didn't know if it was real or in his head. He supposed he didn't care. If anyone wanted something, they would see he was not taking visitors.

He felt soft, flowing hair sweeping over his face, delicate fingers touch his cheek, lips touch his in a single kiss. Without opening his eyes, he grabbed her arm and brought her closer, the kiss becoming passionate. He tried to bring her to him, to feel her warmth against him...

House sat straight up, his breathing labored. His leg throbbed with a renewed intensity. His clock was three hours from going off and House could feel his shirt sticking to his back with cold sweat. He wiped his face with his hands and dropped back onto his pillow. It was only a dream, an illusion of what we wanted. House didn't know how long he lay there until sleep came to him again, but it seemed too long until his alarm clock went off.

* * *

She had woken much the same way, through a dream. As she gasped for air, she remembered his hands pulling her closer, his face next to hers, his eyes staring straight into her own as he kissed her. He had been unusually gentle, his hands holding her firmly against him.

She pulled her knees to her chest, balancing her elbows on them as she put her face in her hands. It was still dark outside and, if she couldn't get to sleep again, she was going to be useless for the night shift. Angry he could do this to her and not even know it, she hit her pillow and laid her head back, brushing hair from her face. No sleep came until the sun started to rise, and it was useless by then, for she had to get up for another day. Another day avoiding House, who had kept her up all night...

_I really look forward to reviews! Thanks so much for reading! The next chapter is in the works right now! Thanks again!_


	6. Glass

_I've gotten a lot of, well, maybe not a lot, but enough reviews to make me a little nervous! I did mean for House's eyes to be grey, although I know they are blue. I also want House to seem like he pretends to ignore and not be bothered by anything, but still does feel things, although he doesn't let people know about it. Now that he is in a situation he made through his own mistake, he is starting to lose control of that ability to pretend to not care. Thanks for all the posts, though! I really, really appreciate everything! I would get worried if people didn't care! Thanks again!_

_I don't know what the response will be on this chapter... I caught myself second guessing it a few times before I started writing... But, here we go!_

Glass

This time, he really was in his office, leaning back in his chair. His leg was causing him pain again, but he tried to forget about the two pills in his jacket pocket. As he shut his eyes, he half expected his dream to come true. However, there was no hair across his face or lips on his, and House sighed.

This situation was frustrating. Again, he had a large stack of files that needed to be put away and, remembering how confusing that had been last time, House was not about to do it himself. Things were tense between them, yes, when she had still talked with him and stood next to him and worked along side him. It was just natural that there was tension. But, they had both hid their true feelings from one another, and life had gone on. Now that she knew... Nothing was getting done.

He opened his eyes and sat up, putting his elbows on his desk, resting his chin on his folded hands. He stared intently through the glass that served as a wall between his office and the hallway, his door made of glass, smooth and clean. It was interesting that something so fragile was also so useful. The glass was strong enough to serve as a wall, but weak enough that it could break if something hit it. It was beautiful, in an odd way, the way it caught the light, absorbing the afternoon sunlight. It also reflected light, streaks of color flashing before his eyes. Through the glass, he could see people hurrying about their day. Doctors and nurses hustled by, holding files and medical tools, reviewing the stats of their next patient. Patients went limping about, dragging their hospital equipment after them, dressed in gowns and robes. Janitors went by with mops and brooms, their uniforms identical.

He watched life pass by, bored out of his mind, keeping an eye out for her. But she never passed by.

* * *

She felt so fragile, like a glass figure. If she ran into anything or if someone were to bump her, she felt as if she would shatter. She had not eaten like she had planned, barely remembering to grab her night bag while leaving. Her head spun and whenever she stood, her vision went blurry. Her muscles twitched and she occasionally stumbled. No one had asked her how she was feeling. Looking closely at her hands, she could see her veins under the skin, her skin tight and pale. If she didn't get sleep or food, she was going to mess up somewhere along the line and have to face the consequences.

Oh, if only she could tell him. If she could only tell him how she felt, she wouldn't feel so bad. At the moment, she didn't care if he yelled. She didn't care if he made her feel guilty. She didn't even care if she made a fool of herself. The only thing that was stopping her from finding House that moment was if he would walk away from her without a word. That was what she feared and it would be so like him to just limp away from her, ignoring her. She needed an answer, something that told her if she had to keep clinging on or if he felt the same she did. It was the possibility of silence that made her afraid.

Finally, she couldn't stand the hunger pains. She allowed herself to find a quick snack, remembering she had files on her desk that needed to be put back into storage. House probably had a large stack of paperwork himself, but she needed more time before she would see him. Tonight, before she went on night duty, she would find him.

* * *

Reaching the file rooms, she found the room with the most amount of folders needed and walked in. A janitor was there, apparently wiping down the shelves. The smell of chemicals was so strong her eyes watered and she saw the bucket next to the man's feet, half full of the foul smelling fluid with a rag floating in the chemicals. She couldn't believe it; this man must have been new. He either didn't know that the fumes would be damaging to the files or didn't care. That chemical was too strong for a storage room wipe down. Not only were the fumes harmful to paper, they also told her that whatever cleaner he was using was toxic and flammable.

That was why she couldn't believe her own eyes as she saw the flash of a match and watched the man place a cigarette in his mouth. There was a strict no smoking policy in the building and anyone found breaking that rule was almost immediately fired.

She backed away as fast as she could, her free hand scrambling to find the door handle. The sound startled the janitor, who must have known he was doing something wrong, because he jumped, mouth falling open in shock.

She watched in horror as the match fell from the man's hand and into the bucket of cleaner.

House was still sitting in his office, wondering about the frailty of glass, when he heard the explosion.

_That is the end of that chapter! I really want to push to the end now; I don't want people to get bored with the story and stop reading, so it's better to end than linger on and on... Don't worry, there are a few more chapters to go, and I know the last one is going to be good... For all of you wondering about the song and the words that haunt House, you're going to find out later! Thanks for reading and please review! Please! Thank you so much!_


	7. Fire

_I keep second guessing myself when it comes to this story... I don't know why, but I get so nervous when I write the main draft, I get even more nervous when I type the draft, and I can finally relax when I post the chapter... Then I get worried about the reviews! I don't know, I guess I am a naturally nervous person... Well, please read and enjoy and review!_

Fire

There was a natural panic as an alarm was set off, alerting all who were in the building that there had been an accident; there was a fire in one of the hospital record rooms. Emergency vehicles screeched to a halt outside the building, rescue workers running down to where the explosion had taken place. It was an isolated part of the building and there had been so structural collapse, just a combustion that had brought in part of a dividing wall and a bit of ceiling. There was no danger to those in the building who had not been near the room when the accident had happened. Soon, after the threat was over to others in the hospital, rumors started to fly, rumors that there were two people injured, one of them in serious condition. Once it was found out what her name was, someone had the state of mind to find Dr. House.

House had stood up when he heard the explosion and felt a slight rumble several floors beneath him. He had been torn between going to see what he could do and to find out what exactly had happened, or to stay in his office and let someone get him. Did he care, really? If there was any danger, the alarms would not have gone off already, a calm voice over the intercom asking patients to return to their rooms and for doctors to come to the accident site for any assistance they could give the workers.

The glass panes had rattled, but had not broken.

He had been halfway out of his office, standing in the doorway, when a young man ran up to House, face flushed with the effort of running to his office from across the building. It was the young intern House had assaulted and the man shook in House's presence, glancing nervously at the cane House held. The words tumbled out of his mouth, none of them clear enough for House to understand except one thing. She had been there...

* * *

A thousand thoughts flashed through his brain as he followed the intern to the crowd of doctors and nurses who were not hustling patients back to their rooms. She had been there, in the record rooms, when the explosion occurred. Some janitor, obviously, new and unable to read the no smoking signs, had lit up and accidentally dropped the match into the bucket of chemicals he had. House could ring the janitor's neck. He could hear his bellows of pain all the way from where he was in the hallway. Getting closer, the doctor could see the janitor being taken from the rubble, babbling about what he had done, being placed on a stretcher. It was apparent that his leg was broken and he was suffering from minor scrapes and bruises, but there was nothing wrong with his voice.

As the doctors rushed him to a different part of the hospital, House pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He was still in there, the workers digging her out from under the piles of burnt paper and bits of plaster and glass. Everything was wet with water from stopping the blaze that had threatened to consume everything it could touch. There was no fire now other than the fir in House's eyes, the cold, intense fire that he and he alone could muster.

He saw them throw aside a large chunk of plaster and push away charred paper to reveal a hand. It was a hand smudged with soot and burned from flame and chemicals, but a hand nonetheless. They unearthed her, not fast enough for House, and placed her on a stretcher, also, a doctor taking her pulse. Her announced to the small group of helpless and horrified nurses and doctors that she was alive, but her pulse was weak.

House looked carefully at her as they prepared to cart her away to another part of the hospital, to intensive care, probably, where House could not see her. Her beautiful hair was now tangled and covered in dirt. Her clothes were tattered and filthy, her lab jacket hanging in strands, the hem burnt away. He could barely see the fabric of her shirt rise and fall with her breathing.

As she was rushed away, people started looking at House. His usual indifferent face was now full of horror and anger. Doctors rushed away, going to their patients, nurses pushing away those who still remained at the edge of the rubble, watching the workers dig through materials. One nurse approached House, but stepped back as she saw his expression. It was frightening. Seeing the doctor angry or sarcastic was uncomfortable, but not unusual. The medical legend was in shock. It was obvious that he did not know what to do. The sight was heart wrenching.

Noticing he was being looked at, House snapped out of his stupor and, ignoring the startled nurse, limped down the hallway where they had taken her, leaving rescue workers cleaning the remains of the ruined record room.

_The next chapter might be the end, I am not sure, yet... I wanted to do one or two more, but I figure that I should wrap this one up and start explaining things! Thanks so much for reading and I look forward to reviews! Thanks!_


	8. Existence

Existence

House had demanded to be there. His protests did him no good, however. She was in critical condition and there was no point in having another doctor by her side. He refused to help the janitor after it was suggested he join the doctors in patching the man back together. House would rather throw the janitor back into the ruins of the record room than help him.

He had demanded her folder, however, the moment it had been written, and he sat in his office, a single lamp on, casting just enough light for him to read by. She had a broken rib, a deep cut on her cheek, and numerous second degree burns from the fire and the chemicals. Her wrist had been broken and a lung had collapse, not to mention the handful of other broken bones...

All in all, she was a wreck and the janitor suffered from a single broken bone. He had not even needed stitches. House snarled to himself. That man could have killed her through his stupidity. The janitor was fired, obviously, due to be released from the hospital in a day. He had kept his mouth shut, however, no matter how many times he was questioned by the police, inspectors, and doctors. He had told them he had indeed dropped the match into the bucket of cleaner on accident, but seemed embarrassed when he was asked why he had not just taken a break and had a smoke outside. It was clear he had not been thinking and he was using the wrong cleaner for simply wiping down the shelves.

House couldn't believe the stupidity of people. Because they did not think, they hurt others, physically wounding them. And this was existence. This was the way humans worked, with no regard to rules or concerns.

Oh, how much he wanted to see her... House didn't know if he could put it into words. He ran his fingers through his hair. She would be back in her room right now. She was asleep when he had seen her last. They were going to put her in anesthesia to reset her bones and House had felt his stomach clench as she saw the mask on her face, her eyelids slowly drooping. He had stood there until she was asleep, watching her through the window of her room. As he saw this in his mind's eye, House wondered what he would have done if she had died. What if she had died without saying another word to him?

He felt exhausted. He did not want to admit it, but he was on edge, nervous, even a bit scared. House being scared? That wasn't possible. She was going to be alright. It was over now, there was no immediate danger to her. Weariness took a hold of him and he rested his head in his hands, closing her folder. His leg was throbbing. His shift had been over for a while and he decided he just wanted to go home. Standing up, House took his cane, flipped off the lamp, and left his office.

On the way out the door, however, he saw the shift board with the names of those who were supposed to be on duty that night. Her name was on the list and no one was covering for her. House stopped and stared at her name for a few moments. Then, with an angry snort and a sharp turn on his heel, House stormed back into his office, switched on the lights, and grabbed the bag from under his desk. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

He lay there, under the sheets of the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. The moon was bright enough through the window that he could try and count the dots in the ceiling tiles, but he stopped after he realized he was getting a headache. He never liked night shift. Basically he felt like a patient until his pager went off, reminding him that he was a doctor. Then he had to get out of bed, hobble down the hallway, and assist anyone who needed an up on their painkiller.

Painkiller. Those two pills were almost saying his name... His leg twitched and House rolled his eyes. To take his mind off the pain, he started to count the holes in the tiles again. Once again, it did nothing but aggravate him. Glancing over at the moonlight shining on the floor, he vividly recalled her dancing, delicate feet carrying her lithe body across the tiles, her arms swaying, her hair-

No, he wouldn't start thinking of her. Already he had the song in his head...

* * *

Eventually, House got out of bed, grabbed his cane, and limped down the hallway toward her room.

_Thanks for reading! I really love reviews, so I hope to hear from you! I am afraid I see the end coming very near! (Then again, I have been saying that for a while, now, haven't I?) Thanks again and I hope you continue reading! _


	9. Pain

_Thanks to everyone who loved this story and let me know about what they thought while it was in progress! This is the last chapter! Boo, hoo... I really felt sad finishing it, but there are more stories calling to me and I must answer! I could always do a follow-up on this one, but not for a while, maybe. A sequel would be nice... _

_Please let me know what you think! Don't hesitate to review! I am sorry to all those who will be mad at me for ending this, but I will write more stories, I promise! Thanks!_

Pain

She looked so peaceful while asleep, House thought as he walked into her hospital room. He shut the door behind him and pulled the curtains shut for privacy. The lights had been dimmed, hardly any light in the room at all; House had to squint before his eyes became adjusted to the dark in order to see her face.

He stood there for minutes on end, ignoring his leg and it's painful protest to sit. He simply looked at her, taking in every slight detail of her appearance. How beautiful she was, simply laying there in front of him, unaware of his presence, not knowing the thoughts that flashed through his mind. He could almost see himself beside her, holding her, accepting that he could actually feel like other people felt without punishing himself for it. He could imagine waking up every morning to her face, her body next to his, her hair across him... But he knew it was not meant to be.

Finally, unable to stand any longer, he pulled a chair beside her bed, as close as he could get it without hurting himself while sitting down, his cane hanging off the chair arm. She looked tough. Beneath the covers, House guessed where her stitches were and wondered how far her bruise had formed. A rib had been broken, so House knew her chest must have been taped. Her arms lay by her sides, one arm in a cast, the arm closest to him covered in heavy purple bruises. There must have been quite an impact in order to cause such bruises to form so fast. There was a long cut across her cheek, not quite deep enough for stitches. Other than that cut, her face was untouched.

House carefully ran a finger along the cut, which was just starting to close on its own, scabbed over. His finger felt every little ridge of the wound. Carefully, as not to wake her, he brushed back the wisps of hair from her eyes, her hair as soft as he thought it would be. They had put her in a deep sleep so when she would wake up, her body would have started the healing process with as little pain as initially possible. Her skin was pale where it had not been cut or bruises and her eyelashes cast a shadow over her cheeks.

Gently, he took her hand, the poor, bruised hand, and held it, her fingers long and delicate. He bowed his head and shut his eyes: What had he become? A sap with a bleeding heart? No. He struggled inside with his instinct to walk away, to ignore her, to ignore everything. And, when ignoring was not an option, to bite back viciously. But, if he really felt the way he did, he would not leave her; he would not abandon her to the pain that would come to her when she woke up. He could lessen the pain in her heart by being there for her while she battled the pain in her body. He recalled the two pills in his pocket and took them out of the bottle, looking at them intently. She needed them more than he did and, with hardly a sound, he placed them on the bedside table. He was not going to run away from his own pain any longer.

This didn't change who he would be on the outside. He would always be feared, he would always be disliked for his toxic attitude, but he didn't have to put himself through hell just to make a point. He had been doing that for years and years, long before he even knew she existed, and would always be himself. But he didn't need to hurt himself needlessly any longer.

He didn't know if she would accept him. He wasn't sure if she would still love him after this. Again, his doubt came flooding back. If she had given up on him already, how would he bounce back. What if he told her everything and she pushed him away? House knew he wouldn't be so willing to accept someone who had hurt him over and over again. That was what she had done to him without realizing it. Every glance was a sharp pain to him, every movement a poison. But he was sitting there, waiting to accept her.

Softly, as not to wake her or to let anyone know he was there, he started to sing the song that had started all of this, to say the words that had brought her to him in his mind so many times. He was going to sit there until she woke up. She was going to feel her hand in his and hear his voice saying what she had been longing for him to say. And maybe she would have him as her own. Just maybe. But, until he knew, he sang gently, waiting for her.

"As I sit here in the night,

When the lightening cuts the sky,

I sometimes think I hear your voice

Like a distant lullaby.

Alone here in the darkness,

I once thought nothing could go wrong,

And as I sit here thinking,

I hear a distant song.

Now to leave the night,

I need to think my journey thought.

But I can't help my thoughts that wander;

They always wander back to you.

So I put my foot out on the road,

And the lightning cuts the sky,

And I do hear your voice-

It's my nightly lullaby."

_

* * *

Thank you! That was the end! The words at the end could either be the lyrics to 'the song' or just a closing poem to the story; it works either way. I won't babble any further. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear some feedback! Onward to new stories!_


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